What a Way to Go
by Ajay435
Summary: A horrible one-shot that you probably shouldn't read, taking place at the funeral of a beloved character. Rated M for character death.


**A/N So there I was, minding my own business, when this _horrible_ idea jumped into my head. It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Please forgive me! Warning for character death.**

 **I do not own Hey Arnold, and this makes it clear that I never, ever should.**

* * *

It wasn't funny. _Really_ it wasn't. Sure it was weird, like _seriously_ weird, but it was still tragic. For Wolfgang and Ludwig to laugh about it the way they did just showed what terrible people they both were, not that they knew him like the gang did. That being said, Ludwig's final words as the pair had finally wandered off struck a very true chord.

"What a way to go!"

And so it came to be that the P.S.118 gang, the 'Simmons Tribe', found themselves gathered to pay respects to one of their own. Well, most of them anyway. It was a strange and strikingly sad sight, the group of children standing together in their finest, most sombre clothes. Some, of course, clearly put more effort into it than others. It was hardly their fault; what nine or ten-year-old is prepared to attend a funeral service? No-one could blame Stinky for having only one suit, unfortunately an unpleasant mustard-yellow colour. Sid could be forgiven for looking so shabby in his father's only black jacket, ludicrously oversized on the pre-teen boy. Someone probably should have made him take off his cap, though... At least Arnold and Gerald looked reasonably dapper, the pair being among the few boys to own fitted black suits. Rhonda, of course, looked as though she had somehow been prepared for this for years, her black dress and shawl the epitome of 'funeral chic', if there should ever be such a thing. They were all there, gazing down at the carved stone that marked their friend's final resting place, and not a one of them seemed to know what to say. They hadn't since it happened.

"Does... someone maybe want to say something?" Arnold finally spoke up, hoping to take the initiative in ending the awkward silence.

"Like _what_ , man?" Gerald responded with a raised eyebrow. "What the heck are you supposed to say when something like _this_ happens" Arnold's shoulders sagged.

" _I_ don't know! Something about him, maybe? Who he was, how much we're going to miss him. Something like that, I guess." Arnold was a strong communicator, he could be persuasive and convincing when the situation called for it, but eulogies were _far_ outside the young boy's comfort zone.

"Who he was? Miss him?" Rhonda was quick to interject, her carefully styled eyebrows rising in disbelief. "Arnold, we barely _knew_ him. He was there, but he just _wasn't_ there, you know? For the life of me I can't remember him saying more than a single word or two."

"To be perfectly honest," Lila, standing by her side, nodded her head in sad agreement, "I didn't entirely realise he was in our class. He was ever so quiet." A single tear rolled down the auburn-haired girl's cheek, causing Rhonda to shoot her a subtle, piercing look. Lila had arrived in an adorable black dress that, she quickly revealed, she had made herself. Rhonda's had cost her hundreds, and she _hated_ to be upstaged. The rich girl cut off her own train of thought there, with a faint, embarrassed blush. Worrying about being 'upstaged' at a friend's funeral? That was what her mother would call 'beyond the pale'.

"He was weird!" Harold's tactless outburst drew a collection of groans and glares from the group. He threw his hands up in an exasperated attempt at defence. "What? It's true!"

"We're _all_ a little weird one way or another, Harold." Arnold tried to be diplomatic; helping Harold towards painfully slow, mature realisations was practically a part-time job for the football-headed boy by this point.

"I'm not! I resent your implication" Curly gave a haughty 'humph', crossing his arms at the indignity of the suggestion. His funeral clothing appeared to be his 'ghost bride' wedding dress dyed black... Arnold tried to ignore the remark and pressed on.

" _Or_ , like Mr Simmons says, we're all special. Sure, he was... different... but he was still one of us. He played baseball with us, came to parties with us, and I'm really gonna miss him." Harold gave a small nod, though the large boy still grumbled his protests under his breath. For a while, the group returned to a mournful, contemplative silence.

"Ok. I need to say it." Sid finally spoke up. He had been silent until now, graveyards being one of the _many_ places that unsettled his delicate nerves, but the thought had been growing in his mind and had to be addressed. "Am I the _only_ one who's kind of surprised that something like this happened to _him_ instead of Eugene?"

" _HEY!_ " Both Eugene and Sheena were quick to protest. Granted, she had been assisting Eugene in manoeuvring his wheelchair across the grass all afternoon. And yes, _maybe_ they'd had to extract the poor boy from an open grave not long ago (he was okay). But still, that comment was uncalled for! Sid seemed to shrink slightly into his jacket under his friends' icy stares. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ , but _come on!_ Eugene pulls this kind of thing all the time!"

"Actually Sid," Phoebe cut in, absent-mindedly adjusting her glasses, "Eugene's mishaps tend to be significantly higher impact than this. In this unusual case, our friend is, um, 'no longer with us' due to an inexplicable _lack_ of activity. It really would be quite fascinating if it wasn't so unfortunate."

"For real? _"_ Gerald gave Phoebe an incredulous look, "the boy was _crushed_ in a _garbage truck_ Pheebs! How is _that_ not 'high impact'?" Phoebe cleared her throat, as if about to deliver a lecture.

"Well, what I mean is that Eugene's 'jinx factor'," (she ignored the second round of 'HEY's), "would most likely have carried him into the back of the truck through a complex and unlikely series of painful, consecutive mishaps. Like a Rube Goldberg machine. For all intents and purposes, it seems that Brainy simply sat there in the trash can a _let_ himself be thrown into the truck!" Her words caused Arnold to release a fresh sigh.

"Ok, we've been talking about this all week. We know what happened, we all agree that it's bizarre. We'll _never_ know why he was hanging out in a trash can in the first place. I think we need to move past the circumstances and just be sad that our friend is dead!" His words, as usual, managed to generate a murmured agreement from the group.

"All the same," Stinky drawled, rubbing his chin, "I'd sure love to know just what possessed him to do something so downright stupid."

Meanwhile, across town, a pigtailed girl sat huddled in the corner of her closet, the only source of light emanating from a series of candles that surrounded her beloved shrine. She rocked back and forth, nervously biting at the fingernails of one hand, staring at the back of the other with horrified, disbelieving eyes. She'd being doing that all week. Helga tried to convince herself that it wasn't her fault, she really did, but even Pataki's have consciences deep, deep down. Surely it was _his_ fault – the little weirdo just wouldn't learn! It had become their 'thing'! She'd try to sequester herself for just a few blessed minutes of peace to monologue, and then that _stupid_ heavy breathing would reach her ears. And then Brainy would get socked. She barely even thought about it any more! Sure, she tended to knock him unconscious now and then if he _really_ mistimed his little ninja act, but it never seemed to bother him! She figured he was only out for a minute or two... She had no idea the truck was coming.

In any case, the lesson was more than clear.

 _Never_ hide from your crushes in trash cans. Especially on garbage day.


End file.
